


Stacked

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archive Sex, Library Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 12:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15485604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: A late night at the Archives, a little bit of seduction, and Tim discovers a new side to Martin.





	Stacked

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this kink meme prompt: [any of the archives team, workplace sex + library fetish](https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=3940#cmt3940).

“Tim?” 

Martin stood in the doorway to the Archives, a tape recorder clutched to his chest and eyes as wide as the saucers he insisted on putting under all cups of tea, no matter how many times Tim insisted it wasn’t necessary. The tables down here already had decades of rings, one more wouldn’t hurt. 

“I didn’t realize you were still here,” Martin said.

“Hmm? Oh, just finishing up some work,” Tim said, rubbing his eyes. In truth, he’d fallen asleep reading up on Robert Smirke for the hundredth time. Nothing had changed, but doing that research for Leanne Denikin’s statement had brought up, well. It didn’t matter now, did it? Dead end. He shut the book and crossed the room, leaning against the door next to Martin.

“Everyone else’s left,” Martin said, shifting uneasily. He held the tape recorder tighter, and eyed Tim. Bit dodgy, particularly for Martin. But then if he’d been trapped in his flat by a horrifying worm woman, he guessed he’d be acting a bit dodgy too. 

“Fell asleep.” He yawned for emphasis, not that he had to fake it. He hadn’t slept well, even considering what a poor pillow a book made. He’d sworn he’d heard something as he’d drifted, some sort of strange music, but that was what he got for rereading that statement so late in the day. “I certainly didn’t intend to stay.” A distant rumble echoed through the Archives, and Tim winced. A late night storm, just what he wanted for his commute. “How late is it?”

“Past ten,” Martin said apologetically. Like it was his fault Tim had lost track of time. But that was Martin, wasn’t it?

Another rumble, louder this time, and from the way Martin’s shoulders tightened, he heard it too.

“Now I really don’t want to go,” Tim said, half-joking. He was certain Martin would insist he stayed if he asked, but hanging out in the Archives wasn’t really his idea of a good time. He’d planned to go out, drink a bit, dance a bit more, and maybe find someone to spend the night with who didn’t know a damn thing about Robert Smirke or early 20th century Soviet circuses.

“I can lend you an umbrella, just wait here.” Martin set the tape recorder on the table and almost ran from the room. And as Tim watched his retreating back, he found that he really didn’t want to leave. To spend the night with someone who had no idea what went on here, no idea that there were things beyond jobs and rent and the throbbing music of a club. Someone who didn’t know that if they went home with the wrong person, death might be a mercy. 

And now he was just being morbid. Really not how he planned on spending his Friday night, but there it was. Another day in the Archives, pondering the horrific fates of people he’d never met, and trying not to think about if someday something would get him too.

Another rumble startled Tim out of his musings. Distraction, that was what he needed. And there it was, the pile of statements Jon had said were such incredulous works of fiction they were better off shredded, or perhaps shared with the dregs of the internet. If they were that good, Tim had to read them. He picked up the first, scanning the page. Just some old codger’s encounter with a teen he swore was possessed. Tim tossed it aside. Definitely shred that one. He skimmed the next page, and his smile widened. Now this was some quality material. 

Conveniently, Martin chose than moment to come around the corner, umbrella held before him like a sword. The hallway was dark, the only light spilling from the doorway next to Tim, creating eerie shadows along the walls. Tim reached around the molding and flicked on the light.

Martin jumped, dropping the umbrella.

“Figured you’d want to check for worms,” he said.

“That’s not funny, Tim.” Martin bent down slowly to grab the umbrella, keeping his eyes fixed on the crack under the door next to him. Once he’d grabbed it, he scurried over to Tim, thrusting the umbrella into his hands. “You’re sure you haven’t seen anything? It’s just so much harder, at night. There are noises, and well—”

“Sometimes you feel like you’re being watched?” 

Martin blinked at him in surprise. “Yes, exactly that. Are you—do you feel it as well? It’s not so bad when other people are here, but when I’m alone, there’s no one who can watch.”

“I think the Institute is haunted. Don’t know by what, but I figure that’s the price of looking into all this creepy stuff. I don’t think it’s trying to hurt us, though.” Tim walked back into the stacks, setting the umbrella aside, and after a moment’s hesitation, picking up the statement. 

“Yeah, I—I think you’re right. Still really spo—” Martin cut himself off with a nervous glance at the door.

“I’m not Jon, I don’t have a bizarre and irrational hatred of perfectly decent words.” 

“Right, well then, it’s spooky.” Martin rung his hands, twitching slightly as lightning flashed in the tiny windows set high in the wall. Tim felt a surge of pity. Martin was a bit, well, Martin. But as irritating as his fretting got, it had to be awful, spending nights like this alone. And he didn’t think Martin was the sort to go out to pass the night. Time for a subject change, then. 

“Speaking of spooky,” Tim said, “what were you doing with that tape recorder?

It’d be hilarious if he were trying to record statements. Jon had been nicer since Martin had his little encounter with Jane Prentiss, but he still wouldn’t be impressed by Martin’s recordings. And even with the errors, Tim wasn’t sure anyone else could quite capture the emotion like Jon. Kind of freaky, how he did it. Best not to even try. 

“Poetry,” Martin said sheepishly. “I like how it sounds recorded? It gives it a different feel. A bit older.”

“Ha, never figured you for a poet. Didn’t you study parapsychology?”

“Yes!” Oddly insistent, wasn’t he. Something to remember for later. “I mean, I did, but poetry’s always been a hobby. That’s all.”

“Important to have hobbies,” Tim agreed. He took a step towards Martin and the tape recorder. “Otherwise you’ll end up like Jon. All work and no play makes Jon a dull boy.”

“Do you really have to reference that now?” Thunder crashed, and Martin shied closer to Tim. And while it might be nothing, every single sign he was getting was telling him Martin really didn’t want him to leave. And that just might have some potential.

“Why not record this statement I found? Jon said to shred it, but it seems such a waste.” He handed the statement to Martin, who took it automatically, not even looking at the pages.

“Are we supposed to do that? I mean, it’s sort of Jon’s job, he might not like—”

“Jon isn’t here right now, Martin.” He flicked the tape recorder on, one hand resting on Martin’s shoulder, fingertips brushing the bare skin of this neck. Martin shivered, but didn’t pull away.

Lips pursed, Martin looked down at the statement. Tim held his breath, and silence seemed to pervade the Archives. Just a stupid prank, but it felt oddly transgressive. Tim’s hand tightened on Martin’s shoulder, and his breath caught as he began to read.

“He was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. Even now that I know what he is, I still believe that. And I can’t quite regret that night, even though I know he’ll come again, and that it will be the end. His teeth mark my throat, and his hands have bruised my skin. I will run, and he will find me, and I will happily be his prey.” Then Martin stopped, frowning and giving Tim an accusing stare.

“This—is this another worm statement? Like the first one. I can’t believe you’d do that.”

Crap, definitely not what he’d been going for. He’d hoped to maybe rile Martin up, but not like this. Before Martin could turn away, brush him off, he grabbed his elbow with his free hand, holding him in place. 

“Not a worm statement, just, well. Someone’s weird sexcapades. That’s all.” He grinned brightly at Martin, heart pounding in his chest. This would be where he’d have to sell it, and damn, this really was better than a night out. 

“Oh,” Martin said, flushing. “I guess that’s okay then?”

Now to go in for the kill.

“And don’t worry, I swear I’m not infested either. Do you want to check my tongue?” He extended it for inspection, only inches from Martin’s face. He managed to turn even redder, but didn’t try to move away. 

“I know you’re not,” Martin said. “I just don’t really like thinking about it, not before bed.”

“Or ever,” Tim agreed. As casually as he could manage, he placed his hand on the small of Martin’s back, guiding him further into the room, towards the shelves. “So, what’s it like living here, tucked away between the stacks?”

“Bit creepy,” Martin said. He didn’t pull away. Oblivious, or interested? With someone like Martin it was hard to know. “I mean, I’ve always liked libraries and places like the Archives during the day. It’s quiet, peaceful. But when everyone’s gone…”

A perfect opening. Couldn’t have been better if Tim had planned it. He stepped closer, not yet touching Martin’s arm but close enough that they might brush hands. Accidentally, of course. Less direct than he’d normally go for, but he got the feeling Martin was the sort to spook. 

“Well, why don’t I stay with you? Protect you from any monsters. And I’ve always fancied spending a bit more time down here alone. Something alluring about all this quiet.” 

“You’re making fun of me.” Damn, Martin was pulling back. Damage control time. Tim let the hand on Martin’s back drop, but grabbed his wrist, gentle enough Martin could pull away if he wished. He didn’t. 

“Hey, I checked your tongue earlier, didn’t I?” Oh, why the hell not. In for a penny— “I could check it again. More thoroughly.” If the needle wasn’t working, might as well go for the hammer. 

Martin tensed, biting his lip and flushing again. It was kind of cute. Tim didn’t usually go for the adorably flustered sorts, but this might actually work.

“You’re hitting on me,” Martin said, like he couldn’t quite believe it. Not oblivious, just not used to the attention. “Are you serious? We’re in the Archives!”

“So what you’re saying is that if we weren’t in the Archives, you’d be totally fine with it?” From the way Martin was reacting, he was guessing it was a ‘yes,’ but always best to confirm. And he liked to hear it. Nice ego boost. 

“I—I didn’t say that. I mean, not that you’re not, you know, attractive. You really are, like really attractive, I don’t know why you even work here. But it’s a bit weird, isn’t it? I mean, we’re coworkers…” He trailed off, not quite meeting Tim’s eyes. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Tim said. He hadn’t been kidding about alone time. It was creepy, sure. But that made it more exciting, and he’d avoid the miserable weather to boot. “Who’s going to know?”

Martin seemed to be wavering, enthralled by Tim’s obvious charm and quick wit. So Tim added, “It’ll be quite the novel experience.” He gestured at the books on the table with a smirk.

And lo and behold, that broke the tension, Martin’s shoulders loosening, a reluctant smile crossing his lips.

“You’re sure no one’s here?” His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Oh Martin, have some spine. Why not take advantage, when neither of us are booked?”

Martin laughed at that, and Tim resisted the urge to cheer. Jon might roll his eyes, but Martin had always laughed at his puns, at the stupid little jokes he told. Humor truly was the way to man’s heart, if he wasn’t bound tighter than an oversewn book. 

But Jon wasn’t the concern here. “So Martin, how—”

A hand on his shoulder was his only warning as Martin shoved him against the shelves, kissing him with surprising force, if not a whole lot of skill. The shelves barely even shook. Guess that donation money had to go somewhere. Tim tangled a hand in Martin’s hair, adjusting the angle. Better. Running his tongue over Martin’s lips, he tasted the curry Martin had for dinner, but Martin didn’t open his mouth. Instead he broke the kiss.

“Oh no, I’m sorry Tim, I just, I wasn’t thinking, and it seemed like the right thing to do?” Martin was shaking, and damn, Tim was a sucker for that puppy dog look. At this point he’d stay even if they didn’t have sex. They really needed to find a way to weaponize it, Martin could be deadly in the field. 

“It was definitely the right thing to do.” Tim licked his lips. Martin’s eyes were locked on his tongue, and damn, Tim did want to kiss him. Even if he was a bit inept. “Here’s my opening for a sordid confession. Ever since I was a teenager, I wanted to have sex in a library. Almost succeeded once in uni, but a librarian caught me. That took a lot of explaining.” He shrugged, shoulders digging into the shelves. “I even wanted to be a librarian at one point. Decided publishing was better, though. For getting that hands on experience.”

He ran his hands down Martin’s side, enjoying the slide of fabric over skin, and the way Martin shuddered under the touch.

“Well, you’re kind of like one now. I mean, Archival Assistant isn’t quite the same thing, but still.” 

“Particularly here, what with all the creepy shit and the worms.” Martin paled, and Tim wanted to kick himself. Maybe don’t bring up the very recent trauma of the man you’re trying to seduce. He was usually better at this. “But you know, like I said. I’ll protect you.” To really get the point across, he slid a hand under Martin’s conveniently untucked shirt and ran it up the hot skin of his back. Martin shivered, and leaned in closer.

“I don’t think that’ll do much against the worms.”

“Yeah, it will. Ancient sex ritual, I read about it in a book. And I know you like a good Lay.”

Martin laughed, and Tim found himself grinning in response. Back on track to getting laid. He hooked a finger into Martin’s waistband, and raised his eyebrows suggestively. “So how about it, then? You up for some illicit workplace sex?”

“I—” Martin looked back into the Archives guiltily, but then his face hardened. This time Tim was ready as Martin kissed him, slower now. Still not a whole lot of skill, but he almost made up for it with enthusiasm. And whatever Jon might say, Martin took instruction well, following Tim’s lead as he slid a tongue into his mouth. 

But as nice as kissing was, the shelves weren’t the most comfortable. He flicked the button free on Martin’s trousers, followed by the zipper. Beneath it, he felt the heat of Martin’s cock. Already hard. As he teased Martin with the lightest of touches, Martin moaned against his mouth.

“I’m flattered,” Tim said. From Martin’s reactions as Tim shoved his pants down, he didn’t get out much. So this shouldn’t take long at all. “How do you want to do this? I’ve been known to make liberal use of my red pen, but…”

Martin’s breath caught. _Definitely_ not getting out much. “Just this, this is fine. I mean, if it’s fine with you.” He was fumbling with Tim’s own fly now, and Tim had never been one to leave a partner hanging. Moving Martin’s hands gently out of the way, he made quick work of the offending clothing, freeing his own cock. 

“Oh,” Martin said, eyes widening. 

Tim had a sudden, horrifying thought.

“You’re not a virgin, are you? I mean, not a problem, sure, but this really isn’t how I’d do a first time—”

“No, no.” Martin pushed Tim against the shelves, and a few untouched pages fluttered to the floor. But he wasn’t exactly inclined to do much about it now, with Martin grinding his cock against Tim’s, and pressing his lips against Tim’s neck.

“You know you’re weirdly aggressive,” Tim said with a groan as Martin bit into the sensitive flesh under his ear. Never would’ve figured Martin for a biter, but it was always the quiet ones, wasn’t it? 

“Sorry.” Martin started to pull away, which was absolutely not the plan. Reaching forward for his hip, Tim instead managed to find his cock. And why not. He wrapped his hand around it, giving it a nice, long pull. Martin made that noise again, and buried his face in Tim’s shoulder.

“It’s hot,” Tim muttered into his hair. Martin was close enough now he could get a grip on both of them, and oh, that was nice. Martin bucking against him, mouth warm and wet on his neck, his chin, his mouth. A few more statements fell as Martin’s hand joined his. 

“Tim, I can’t—” Martin shuddered. Even faster than he’d expected, but he wasn’t going to judge. He left his own cock alone, jerking Martin fast and dirty, while Martin breathed heavy against his throat. Martin bit down on his shoulder as he came, onto Tim’s trousers, the floor, a few statements Tim really hoped weren’t important. 

And then he dropped to his knees. 

“Seriously, you don’t have to.” Tim placed a hand on Martin’s hair while Martin reached for his cock, intent clear. 

“I want to,” Martin said. Stubborn, but Tim was hardly going to object. 

“I have always liked the idea of getting my head sucked in a book.” 

Martin groaned. “If you keep that up, I’m going to leave.”

“Not much of a threat,” Tim said, as Martin wrapped a tentative hand around his cock, lips parting as he leaned in. “Wait.”

“What?” Martin sounded genuinely irritated. Definitely a side of him Tim wanted to see more often. But for now, he had an idea, the statement he’d had Martin read still lying abandoned on the table. 

“Get the statement,” he said, pulling Martin to his feet. 

He shut his eyes and took a breath as Martin scurried off. This was crazy, but he might as well go for it. The full archive sex experience. When he felt a paper brush against his hand, he took it, and watched Martin drop to his knees.

“You blow me, I’ll read the statement,” Tim said. “I stop, you stop.”

“Are you sure?” Martin said. But he seemed intrigued. Damn, why hadn’t Tim tried this earlier? Martin was proving far more willing than he’d expected.

“Absolutely,” Tim said. He cleared his throat. “Statement begins.” 

Best to be gentle. Instead of grabbing Martin’s hair, he wrapped his free hand around the shelves behind him, fingers digging into the wood. He closed his eyes briefly, taking in the scent of old paper, and the silence, except for their own hurried breathing.

Then he looked down at the statement, and groaned. But fair was fair.

“That damn boy is a nightmare, I tell you. Banging on with his screaming music, and screaming along with it.” 

Hot breath on his skin, and lips far less tentative than he’d expected, sliding down his cock. Tim groaned for a far different reason this time, and Martin stopped moving. Right.

“And all hours of the night. Where are his parents? What’s wrong with them, letting him make all that racket? He has to be possessed, I tell you.”

Martin was bizarrely good at this, and Tim had to know why. Clearly he hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t a virgin, but this was something else, the way he pulled off so he was only sucking the head, then took him deeper than Tim would’ve thought possible. At least for someone like timid, retiring Martin. His fingers dug harder into the shelves as Martin wrapped a hand around the base, gripping the part he couldn’t quite take, and then moving back to cup Tim’s balls. 

“Now maybe you think I’m just a crazy old man. But I saw things. Lights in the window, unholy rituals—” His voice cracked. Unholy was about right for whatever Martin was doing with his tongue. Fuck, he was close. “—probably worshipping some sort of demon. Kids these days, they’re always up to something.”

Enough of that.

“Martin,” he said. He couldn’t hold back anymore, and wove one of his hands through Martin’s hair, letting the statement fall to floor. “Look, it’s only fair to warn—”

When Martin met his eyes, Tim’s breath caught. He sucked harder, tongue working the underside of Tim’s cock, and that was it. He didn’t even seem to mind the way Tim tugged at his hair when he came. 

“Fuck,” Tim said, sliding to the floor and letting his head thunk back against the shelves. “How are you so good at that?”

“I told you, I’m not a virgin.” Martin sat back on his heels. There was a bit of come on his lips, and his tongue darted out to lick it away. 

Tim groaned and covered his eyes, sinking to the floor next to Martin. “Only a taste of the knowledge you hold within?”

“You’re terrible,” Martin said. There was a rustle of paper, and then a head pressed against his shoulder, an arm around his waist.

“I do like using the Vulgate,” Tim muttered. Sex always left him knackered, and as much as he’d regret it later, he didn’t particularly want to move. Instead he ran his fingers through Martin’s soft hair, and listened to the whir of the tape recorder.

Wait.

“Martin, did you turn off the tape recorder earlier?” 

“What?” Martin sat up, eyes locked on the table. “No, I thought you did.”

“We’ll just tape over it. No one will know.” Or hell, maybe Tim could persuade Martin to let him keep it. Could prove some interesting listening. Poetry, of a sort.

“Yeah, right.” Martin frowned. “Do you hear footsteps?”

As they scrambled back into some semblance of dress, Tim found himself fervently grateful they hadn’t done more than uncover the necessary bits. Because only seconds after he’d managed to tuck himself back into his trousers, the door opened.

“Bit of late night research?” Elias said, regarding Tim with an amused smile. He knew. Tim didn’t know how, but he absolutely knew exactly what they’d done.

“Just recording some oral history,” Tim said.

“Tim,” Martin hissed. Tim ignored him.

“Really? What sort?”

“Irish. I studied the Annals of the Four Masters at uni.”

“How fascinating. I was under the impression your degree was in Anthropology.”

“I like studying all sorts of people.”

“Yes, I see you do.” Elias glanced at Martin. And here Tim thought he couldn’t have been redder. “While I do believe I’m owed an explanation, I’m content to shelve the issue for now. In the future, please keep your hands on research to the field. Goodnight, Tim. Martin.”

“Did—did Elias just make a pun?” Martin’s mouth hung open. It shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was.

“Three, I think. Owed might’ve been Ode. Like poetry.”

“Are we going to be fired?”

“I don’t think so.” 

Martin seemed to be in shock, not responding when Tim gently prodded his shoulder. So instead he slung an arm around him, and began guiding him towards the small back room.

“Why don’t we go to bed. Maybe probe some of the deeper mysteries of the Archives.”

“You’re joking, we just—”

“I meant sleep, Martin. That’s all.

“No, you didn’t.” But he was smiling again, relaxing against Tim. 

Definitely worth it.

*

“Tim, where did the stains on this statement come from?

“Uh.” Think fast, Tim, think fast. “Martin must’ve spilled something.” When in doubt, tell the truth.

“Of course it was Martin. I know Jane Prentiss’s attack was traumatic, but he really should move out…”

Tim left Jon to it. Best he found Martin and explained, before Jon got on the war path. He knew just the way to make it up to him. And maybe find a use for that tape. 

The Archives really were quite an enriching place to work.


End file.
